


Yellow Umbrella

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 07:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: How much is a life worth?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrimsonQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonQuill/gifts).



Monsters walked around with the guises of human faces. 

Minerva considered this statement as she took a silver arrow from the quiver and notched it. She imagined herself falling flat on her face. When her parents introduced their second son, Robert, to the congregation back in … a long, long time ago, she’d done this very thing; she’d fallen straight on her face. Malcolm had pointed at her with his pudgy finger and laughed his head off. 

 

Malcolm, still pudgy, stood in the back of the classroom and watched with polite interest. He wore a dress shirt and faded jeans, completely disregarding school rules, but he made no scene as he ran his sausage fingers through his blonde hair. Minerva remembered her father once asking these light-hearted questions: Where had this blonde-haired, blue-eyed ball of energy come from? And what, exactly, were the details to the return policy? 

 

Robert McGonagall never came right out and said it. Who picked among their children? Malcolm, hands down, was the reverend’s favorite son, for he was nothing like the austere, righteous man, and Malcolm stuck around for the food, the awkwardness, and the jokes. 

Exhale, inhale, exhale. Minerva demonstrated a principle to her students. The moment the arrow shot through the air, the sides of Malcolm’s mouth twitched, and the and arrow pierced the heart of a pigeon. 

In mid-squak, the pigeon transformed into a fresh red apple and a black feathered quill. The sixth-years did double takes. James Potter’s arm shot straight in the air. He perched himself on the desk, ignoring Remus Lupin, who told him to sit down. Malcolm tossed his sister the apple halves, one after the other, and Minerva brought the apple back together before it landed in her open hand.

“Mr. Potter.” Minerva weighed the fruit in her hand. 

“That was cool,” said James, running a shaky hand through his dark hair. Lily Evans, three seats behind him, picked up a roll of parchment off the floor. 

“Thank you,” said Minerva, waiting for a follow-up question somewhere in this assessment. 

“Core element,” said Remus. 

Minerva, impressed, pointed at James, telling him to sit without saying a single word, and inquired whether Remus meant to deliver this as a question or a statement. The happy-go-lucky Chaser got the point and scurried back in place, making Malcolm laugh heartily. 

“A statement? Core element,” said Remus, stronger this time, sitting up straighter. He sounded wrong footed nonetheless.

With thirteen students in the Advanced Transfiguration class, Minerva steered the conversation towards them, especially with a week left in the spring term. Remus Lupin broke things down into plain English, which is honestly why Minerva admired him. She often forgot to do this. Albus Dumbledore had not handed her the higher ups until two years ago. The bell rang, signaling the end of the day, but her students knew not to dart to to the door and escape into the weekend. 

Minerva tossed Remus Lupin the apple. Remus, as surprised as anyone else, caught it before it slipped through his fingers, and Lily, smiling, slung her school bag over her shoulder and muttered something Minerva couldn’t hear. 

“In case you missed it, Remus Lupin’s the one to beat. Until Monday.” After dismissing the class, Minerva pointed her wand at the blackboard as the script erased itself. Malcolm walked up, taking Minerva’s briefcase from her and steering her towards the door. “What is it?” 

“A woman’s never turned me down,” he said, rolling his eyes at the ceiling when Minerva shot him a sharp look. 

“Poor Pudge.” Slinging the quiver over her shoulder, she pouted, feeding him the reaction the he wanted. He’d meant nothing by this. Minerva, jostled by the queue, stopped outside of the office and placed the archery equipment inside the wardrobe. 

A house-elf, a skinny tired thing draped in a toga, built a fire by hand. Libby lit the fire by magical means. 

“It’s summer.” Malcolm slumped into a chair and shrugged when Minerva frowned at him. 

 

“Nobody, ma’am,” said Libby, wincing a little at her touch. Libby had returned briefly back to her home and returned sometime in the afternoon. “Libby walked into a door?” 

“How many times?” Malcolm frowned slightly. He chose not to buy a word of this, for he cared as much for repressed and broken things as his work as foreign correspondent. Minerva held up two fingers, warning him. He shot back a fit response. “Yes, Reverend.” 

“Libby, this is my brother, Malcolm. Malcolm, get the kit in my desk.” Minerva examined Libby’s face. 

“Hello, sir.” Libby fell in a perfect curtsy without thinking about it, and she paid for it when she tried to remain upright.

“Good afternoon, Libby.” Light and casual. Malcolm patched the house-elf up and laid her in the bed like a small child. Minerva opened the wall to her sleeping chambers with a touch of her hand, and she said no words against this, because she didn’t know what to do. Malcolm tucked Libby in like he did every night with his small children. He flashed Minerva four fingers. 

“Anne’s pregnant again,” she said, guessing she interpreted this correctly. 

Malcolm had a Deaf son, Shepherd, and he delighted in the fact his sister preferred to stay in the dark. He switched to sign language simply to prove his point, and Minerva enjoyed the silent treatment because she had no idea what her brother said. 

Minerva threw out a shot in the dark. “It’s a girl.” 

“You said this before.” Malcolm loved his son. Upon discovering he was Deaf, Malcolm plunged himself into another community, and Shepard brought life and love to his life. 

“And you’ve been happily married for fifteen years.” She stopped, counting in her head, almost counting on her fingers. Minerva found Malcolm’s lightness about his so-called love life laughable, because she’d never someone as socially awkward as her little brother. Malcolm caught her and fell casually into a dancer’s stance. “What is this?” 

“You helped me not mess up on my wedding day. You wrote my vows.” Malcolm matched her step for step, and Minerva fell back on her breathing exercises. 

“I married Anne?” Minerva failed to check his meaning and managed to get a smile. 

“How should I answer this?” Malcolm toyed with this. 

“You’re an idiot, Pudge. It’s your anniversary and you’re here with your sister…” Minerva debated sending Anne an owl. 

“My stick in the mud,” said Malcolm, who lived for his strict father, the man who lived ten minutes away, and he served his happy wife. “But my favorite sister? I told you when … I tell you everything every single time. We’re having another baby. I need a name.”

Minerva stiffened, surprised by this request. Her beady eyes darted at the concealed wall, and she she somehow put two and two together, although she couldn’t really explain how she’d arrived here in the first place. Malcolm dipped her into a waltz pose, his expression confused. Minerva broke the dance. 

“I’m an idiot,” said Minerva, hugging herself. 

“Why?” Malcolm stole one of the arrows from the quiver as a parting gift. He pecked her on the cheek. “Mine. You’ll miss dinner.” 

Minerva promised to get back with him with suggestions. Malcolm left through the fireplace, and the emerald green flames swallowed him. Minerva watched him go, and she nursed a bottle of red wine as jumbled thoughts ran through her head. Libby requested time off. She came back. 

Acting like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Libby woke up and went to fetch Minerva dinner. Minerva tightened her fingers around Libby’s wrist. “If you need to tell me anything ....” 

“Libby isn’t an equal,” said the house-elf. She bowed slightly, although pain etched across her face and in her large eyes. “Libby must tend to the kitchens.” 

“Libby.” Minerva let her go. 

She paced the office, leaving the food on the desk. Minerva took a shower, and she stared at her robes before tossing them in the hamper. Laundry day was was either Saturday or Sunday. She pulled at her fingers, pillow friends with a bottle of red wine. Whenever the world refused it make sense, she settled on an awful diet; she ought not to drink on an empty stomach. 

Fraying at the edges and trying to keep it together at the same time, Minerva experienced a freefall, despite the fact her feet stayed on the ground. People rarely saw this side of her, although it certainly make appearances. The drink saturated her brain, so she decided to hide in her bedroom. Her father had often suggested to call a friend in a time of crisis. 

She did this. Elphinstone Urquart stepped out of the fireplace. He wore a charcoal grey trench coat over dress clothes and thought to bring a bottle of Bordeaux to keep her half-empty bottle company. Minerva strung her words together, and Elphinstone listened patiently, nodding at the appropriate stops. Or Minerva imagined this because he let her say anything. He carried his weight around the middle like a pear, but whenever he walked into a courtroom, he commanded respect. 

 

“You said Libby asked to go to Malfoy Manor,” said Elphinstone, holding up a finger to stop her to retrace his steps. Minerva walked, imagining a straight line as she placed one foot in front of the other. She knew well slightly inebriated people couldn’t accomplish this task. Elphinstone helped her in the desk chair, and he turned his head when someone, presumably a student, knocked on her office door. Elphinstone made her face him. “No.” 

 

“No.” Minerva touched a finger to his lips. She repeated what he’d said and conjured two wine glasses. “Drink with me.” 

 

“You’re drunk,” he said flatly. Elphinstone took the bottle from her. 

“Professor. Professor?” James Potter pounded on her office door. 

“You’re pretty,” said Minerva, patting Elphinstone’s cheek. 

“Every man lives to hear this,” he said dryly, slapping her hand when she reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. Elphinstone pointed at the door. “Kid’s persistent. I thought he’d go away.” 

“You shouldn’t be here, Elphinstone. Elphinstone.” The sound of footsteps meant James went away. Minerva straightened the man’s collar and smiled at him. “I’m the reverend’s daughter and nobody knows a servant … a slave stands by my side.” 

 

“Yes.” Elphinstone stowed the bottles away. When he turned around, Minerva laughed at some nonsense in her head. “Explain.” 

“My father doesn’t know. I’m the discreet, pious daughter.” Minerva started crying, waving her arm at the closed wall. After he helped her into her night things, Elphinstone helped her to bed, shushing her when she started crying. “Like a cow. Libby has a child like some … I can’t think of anything…” 

“A cow or a ewe.” Elphinstone supplied an easy comparison, setting her wine glass on a book. He kissed her. A soft, wet kiss, and Minerva asked him to stay. Embarrassed, Elphinstone rubbed his hands and jumped when there was another student at the door. Or he presumed so. It was James again. “Does he ever go away?” 

“No.” Minerva got up and searched for tartan dressing gown. “Where is it?”

“What? Forget it.” Elphinstone cursed in Gaelic when James pounded on the door. Minerva went back to nursing her glass, and she wandered back into her office as Elphinstone discussed Quidditch with James. He stopped, watching Minerva when she started searching for something. “Yes?” 

“Professor, about next year’s team…” James jumped to his feet. 

“You don’t see me,” she said, spreading jam on a cold dinner roll. James went in a spill about Karen Sloper. Minerva took her hair down and started to braid it. “I am not here, Mr. Potter.” 

“Yeah, but,”said James, not hearing a word of this slur. 

“Good night.” Elphinstone handed her another roll. “You want me to fetch more?”

“No, thank you.” Minerva went back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“She’s not feeling well,” said Elphinstone, clearly out of his element here and leaning heavily on politeness. Minerva watched him, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Minerva flipped through a dictionary, a legal reference, as she sipped her drink. “Possession.” 

 

“You want me to spell it?” Elphinstone, amused, turned towards her as he clapped his hands together. “Phonetics. Professor, you have to spell to look up a word. Baby steps.” 

 

“Mr. Urquart. You’re rude.” Minerva continued with a thick tongue. 

“Yeah. Who’re you?” James glanced from Minerva to Elphinstone. 

“I’m … I’m ummmm....” Elphinstone, uncharacteristically lost for words, ran his hand through his white hair. He smiled uncomfortably at James. “I am a lawyer.”

“Mr. Urquart.” Shaking hands with Elphinstone, James pieced together whatever he had, which was nothing, and Minerva laid back on the bed and covered her face in her hands. She heard the grin behind his words. 

“Mr. Potter.” Minerva struggled with where to begin. 

“She’s not a nun. Teachers have lives after class ends … she’s had a long day.” Elphinstone proved a gifted orator and played well with words. He had a son, a Deaf son, and he stayed a people person at heart. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” James said good night and left. 

“Mr. Potter.” Minerva used Elphinstone to steady herself linked her arm through his. She remembered an essay and a set detention. “If I don’t see an essay on Locke Law under my door by breakfast tomorrow, we’re going to have a problem. Three rolls of parchment.” 

“Three rolls?” James pulled a straight face when Minerva met him with a stony expression. “Two and a half?” 

Minerva see sawed her hand, not committing to anything, but she doubted whether she would remember the details of this shaky negotiation. James left before she could change her mind. 

“Possession. Come with me.” Elphinstone waited for her to nod, and pulled her back through the fireplace after finding her dressing gown. They travelled by Floo Powder and he danced with her her, simply shuffling their feet. She made a suggestion, but he veered her into the handsome office. “Sit.” 

“This is inappropriate,” she said slowly. 

“Yeah, you crossed that line the moment you took advantage of me.” Elphinstone left, leaving her to figure this one out, but he came back with black coffee and and stash of snacks. He fell into an armchair and opened thick volumes. 

“My brother knows about us.” Minerva listened to Elphinstone read through cases, decisions, and definitions. 

“Libby isn’t yours,” he said, perching his glasses on his nose. He pinched the bridge of his nose, too, weary. Minerva sipped her coffee and wrapped herself in a blanket. 

“She belongs to the school.” Minerva studied a photograph of Elphinstone’s son, Joshua. In the photograph, Elphinstone rested his hands in Joshua’s. It had been taken years ago. 

“Yes and no.” Elphinstone walked over, lost in his reading for some time and stopped when she reduced herself to tears. He read through an account of of a pure-blood wizard burning everything to the ground. He patted his leg and sighed when she sat on his lap, making herself home there. Elphinstone held a roll of parchment. “This is Abraxas Malfoy’s will.” 

Minerva frowned at him. “You drafted his will?” 

 

Elphinstone kissed her passionately. “Are Joshua and I the same person?” 

Minerva shook her head, blinking away her tears. 

“Abraxas isn’t Lucius.” Elphinstone broke these things down simply. “I play chess with Abraxas. Abraxas Malfoy told me to love my Deaf, bastard boy because he was mine. No matter what. That man, a good man, taught me sign language. Or he found people who taught me.” 

Elphinstone demonstrated sign language for her. 

“I love you,” she said, giving him the three words he loved to hear. Elphinstone sighed, content when Minerva rested her head on his shoulder. They linked their fingers together. “Malcolm wants to meet you.” 

 

“He does,” said Elphinstone, saying these words aloud to himself. “What are we?” 

“I don’t understand.” Minerva took Abraxas’s will and started reading through it silently. 

“Friends? Good friends? Am I your boyfriend?” Elphinstone whispered in her ear, a sultriness slipping in. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking?” 

 

“Do not ask me to marry you.” 

“No, Professor.” Elphinstone held up his hands, surrendering. 

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “What do you tell Joshua?” 

“What should I be telling him?” Elphinstone played with words and went with the truth. “I told him we share a room in a pub, so he knows about everything, but if you wanted to run off to the courthouse tomorrow …”

“Mr. Urquart,” she cut cross him, her eyes flashing dangerously behind her rectangular spectacles as she got things back on track. “I can’t imagine having a baby and leaving a house like nothing happened.” 

“Abraxas owned Libby. He owns her. She is not a person, Minerva, and strictly speaking, he owns her descendants. Her husband, Knowles, and the child …” Elphinstone searched a house-elf lineage and searched for a name. “Dobby.” 

Minerva, appalled, sat there. “This is wrong.” 

“Yes.” 

“If someone took Joshua from you …” 

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, forever the professional legal layman. Elphinstone shrugged, cutting out the fat. “Katherine tried to take him from me once. I told her she’d have to take this boy from my dead, cold hands. He’s mine.” 

Minerva nodded. “Exactly.” 

“Of course, she’s moving onto her seventh husband with Zander Zabini,” said Elphinstone conversationally. He stifled a laugh. “Ergo Joss calls you his stepmother.” 

Minerva clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. 

“Not out loud. Certainly not to your face. I think he’s afraid of you.” Elphinstone found a scratch pad and started dumping h s thoughts on paper. 

“I’ll hand her my travelling cloak.” Minerva frowned when Elphinstone said this wouldn’t work. 

“Is this what you want?” Elphinstone would’ve fallen off a cliff for her. 

“Yes.” Minerva nodded, strangely afraid and comforted at the same time. She kissed him good night. “I want them to burn for this.” 

 

 

“


	2. Home

After the end of the war, she said yes and the seasons passed. 

Joshua stood in as their best man. Elphinstone jokingly insisted this was a good thing as he was Deaf; the boy couldn’t object because he couldn’t speak, so God took care of this problem. (Joshua answered him with a hand gesture and said someone, an old someone, promised food and wine.) 

They exchanged vows at Malfoy Manor. Elphinstone cut the fat and suggested they get to the point, especially since some high-powered case landed in his lap. Retirement meant nothing to people, and Elphinstone really enjoyed the legal chase. Minerva commented on how he sandwiched this in between a brunch and an empty midday schedule. 

Abraxas Malfoy somehow ordained himself, certain some reverend from Caithness would kill him because Reverend McGonagall missed out in a chance to marry his only daughter. Elphinstone placed a sapphire ring worth enough to feed a small country on her hand. Minerva recited the words, the ordinary Muggle ones, and Malcolm stood in the back with the house-elf and Joshua. The two witnesses shared a private conversation with no words whatsoever; their fingers moved at rapid speed. 

Joshua mirrored his father at twenty- five. His blonde curls framed his face, and there was a light in his green eyes. He worked as an interpreter for a handful of London precincts, and Joshua followed his father’s rules about a well-dressed walking around with success because the clothes or the robes made the man. Minerva stopped, noticed Elphinstone’s head veered to the back of the drawing room. 

“Five minutes.” She turned Elphinstone’s head none too gently when Abraxas, acting like he had all the time in the world, snorted. “Elphinstone, you woke me up at five o’clock in the morning. On a Sunday.” 

“Go on,” Elphinstone said kindly, turning back to her. 

Minerva repeated after Mr. Malfoy. Abraxas, a quiet, friendly man, wore black dress robes and smiled with his grey eyes. When a small boy tottered in on shaky legs, Abraxas shakily put things on pause and scooped up his grandson. Abraxas and Elphinstone usually spent Sunday mornings at brunch at the Three Broomsticks inhaling carbohydrates as they solved the world’s problems. 

“Yes, Draco, I see it. No, thank you, I don’t want it.” Abraxas dropped his book and ate a slice of apple.

He shrugged, waving at them to seal the deal with a kiss. Minerva caught her breath, surprised when Elphinstone took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. Minerva flushed with color, despite the draftiness of the room, and she smiled when Elphinstone, changing to Gaelic, whispered a wedding prayer, and stole another kiss. 

“I haven’t any idea what he said,” said Abraxas, setting his book on the table and jostling his grandson. 

Joshua signed his congratulations and hugged her like an old friend. They took photographs. Minerva the only woman among them, stood next to her husband and placed her hand on Joshua’s shoulder during one shot. Minerva ate her assumptions and realized Abraxas wasn’t as cold as the rest of his family. 

Predictably, a brunch, a feast worthy of Hogwarts Castle waited for them in the dining room. Rain fell outside. The house-elf, Knowles, Minerva guessed, spoke with nobody but the tiny thing mirroring him Dobby wore a crisp white pillowcase. When Knowles spotted Libby in a clean blouse and a skirt, he dropped the coffee carafe and muttered his apologies a thousand times. 

Abraxas, not missing a heartbeat, stuck Knowles with the back of his hand and set his napkin in his lap. Libby did not sit at the table; she sat with Minerva in the professor’s quarters, but she acted like a dog on a leash under her old master’s roof.

Joshua, Malcolm, and Minerva exchanged an awkward glance, and Joshua, who lost his appetite altogether, excused himself for work. Libby wore a hat. When Elphinstone met her, he took the house-elf around house shopping and had accidently handed her his scarf when he slipped in the snow last winter. 

Libby got up to help Knowles. When Abraxas struck her twice, Libby stared back at him, her face expressionless, and she let the blood drip onto the floor. She took a shaky breath, dipped into a curtsy, and helped her husband back into the kitchen. Dobby leaned against the wall, looking as though he wished to disappear. 

“Libby.” Elphinstone took out a handkerchief and knelt on the floor as he wiped her face when she returned. He turned to Abraxas, shaking with fury. “You will not lay a hand on her. You owe her an apology, my friend.” 

“She is in my service until she delivers,” said Mr. Malfoy, suddenly businesslike. He glared at Libby, and her ears drooped. “You will change, elf.” 

“She isn’t yours.” Minerva didn’t want the omelette or the waffles anymore because nausea washed over her. 

Technically, until the dust settled from the court proceedings, Libby stayed tied to Malfoy Manor. Abraxas got up and stormed out of the room. 

“Minerva,” said Elphinstone warningly. 

“What?” Minerva pulled on her travelling cloak as they listened to streaks in the background. “Go in there and get her because I’ll say things ....” 

She breathed through her flaring nostrils, her voice deadly calm. “We are leaving.” 

“Minerva,” said Elphinstone. 

“Elphinstone, I swear to God …” Minerva turned on her heel, leaving the dining room with Malcolm. They waited in the sitting room. Elphinstone’s brogue, strong and reassuring, rang through the cavernous halls with sentence enhancers sprinkled throughout his speech. 

“Wow,” said Malcolm. “Just wow. And here I assumed you were the angry one. I didn’t even know he talked like that.” 

Minerva paced back and forth when they stepped outside, glancing at her watch. “Malcolm.” 

 

“No, no, Mr. Lawyer would go to war for you.” Malcolm kissed her on the forehead. “I like him. You make a beautiful bride, sister. I love you. Love each other.” 

Malcolm Disapparated. Elphinstone found her minutes later, calm and collected. After handing Dobby a blue handkerchief, he walked with Libby. Minerva smiled when Elphinstone gave Libby a private moment with her family. Knowles and Dobby, petrified statues in the cold, stiffened when Libby hugged them. 

Minerva blinked furiously when a tear rolled down Knowles’s battered nose. Libby handed her flowered hat to Dobby, started to walk away, and ran back to straighten Dobby’s tattered pillowcase. They headed back towards the manor, and Libby chased after Minerva and Elphinstone. 

“She’s Elizabeth,” said Elphinstone, his lips barely moving as he said this. They Apparated back their humble home. He shook with anger, his fists clenched, but he showed Libby to her small bedroom. “If I have to give her my name and set precedent, I’ll do it. She is not going back there.” 

“All right.” Minerva laid her travelling cloak on the chair and pushed him lightly on the bed. 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Elphinstone took off her spectacles and set them on the glass covered bedside tables, lost in Minerva’s distractions. She got comfortable and he sighed at her touch. “You’re a good Scottish girl.”

Minerva nodded, sighing when he he took her hair down. Elphinstone laughed when he muttered about angry love. 

Minerva moaned softly. “Elphinstone.” 

 

“Shut up. Let me be your husband.” Elphinstone forgot about the rest of the morning. Minerva moved with him and laughed freely when Elphinstone muttered incoherently and changed the game. Minerva glimpsed her reflection in the mirror and held him close. 

 

“You’re not angry anymore.” Elphinstone smiled when she blushed, pleased he got this reaction. “Yeah. See? Marriage is fun. You roll over.”

“You, sir, are inappropriate,” she said, stopping him right there and handed Libby glasses. Minerva dried, simply to have something to do with her hands. Elphinstone lifted her, still strong at sixty-five, and he set her on the counter. “Your son is in the sitting room.” 

 

“Yeah, and he’s Deaf,” said Elphinstone. 

Libby set the roast on the cooling rack. Minerva got to her feet and told Elphinstone to get out. Elphinstone shrugged and laughed as Minerva pointed at the open door. 

“He’s a good man, Mr. Elphinstone,” said Libby, making the vegetables slice themselves with magic. She placed it back in the oven. 

“Yes.” As she followed Elphinstone’s recipe for dinner rolls, Minerva listened to the men laugh, Joshua’s voice raspy and uneven. Neither of them said an audible word. Libby winced, and Minerva caught Libby’s body before her limp body hit the ground. Panicked, she called for help. “Elphinstone! Joshua! Joss!”

 

“What happened?” Elphinstone darted into the kitchen. Joshua wore a London Police t-shirt and jeans and wore a weapon on his hip. Joshua, quicker than his father, ran over to the house-elf and jumped into chest compressions. 

“What is he doing?” Minerva, frightened, stood off the side as Joshua shifted, scooping up the elf. “Is that a gun?” 

“No. That’s not legal.” Elphinstone switched off the range and chased after his son, breathing like a winded beast. Minerva ran with them. Joshua got in an argument with the caretaker, but Argus didn’t know what he said, so this proved pointless. 

“Argus. What is this?” Dumbledore ran down the entrance steps and clapped his hand on Joshua’s shoulder. They exchanged introductions, for Joshua quickly learned the headmaster knew sign language. 

The house-elf got whisked away to be tended to by Professor Kettleburn. Dumbledore acted he and Joshua were old friends. From what Minerva gathered, Joshua had never heard a single word from birth.

“He’s delightful.” Dumbledore walked around the grounds with Minerva. Elphinstone and Joshua went back to talking at lightning speed. 

“Joshua? Yes.” Minerva guessed Elphinstone would fill her in later. “What’re they saying?” 

“Minerva. They aren’t talking about you,” said Dumbledore. The sides of his mouth twitched as he answered Joshua. “He teaches at Deaf theatre?” 

 

“He volunteers,” said Minerva stiffly.

“That’s lovely.” 

“He’s good with children.” Minerva shrugged. 

She felt like a stranger watching this scene from the outside. Dumbledore explained sharing their conversation would be like a man Apparating onto another man’s doorstep: it simply did not happen. It happened, but it was as rude as banging on the door. Minerva, completely confused, watched as Elphinstone waltzed with his son in the Transfiguration courtyard. 

“You’re not going to explain this? Albus!” Minerva stopped as students, no longer busy with homework, walked the two men. “Not giving a punchline is not fair.” 

“Joshua invited a young lady to go dancing,” said Dumbledore, enjoying the pleasant day. 

“Oh.” Minerva tapped her foot. 

Minerva remembered when Elphinstone once danced with her in the streets on a rainy day. Joshua treaded on his feet, and they giggled like schoolgirls when Elphinstone, speaking to nobody in particular, suggested the police officer learn to walk first. 

Minerva smiled when Elphinstone conjured one of Joshua’s old violins and suggested he pray to Apollo or whatever deity. Elphinstone called a timeout, placed the instrument underneath his chin, and struck up a piece from memory. 

“Joshua. Piece your hands on my waist. No. There.” Minerva spoke slowly, letting Joshua read her lips. Joshua played the string instrument on better than his father, and the Sargent often invited Joshua to showcase his skills. “Four and eight. Sometimes three. What’s the difference?” 

 

“Four or five, Professor,” said Joshua, mouthing his answer. 

“Fool,” said Minerva, turning heads when she chuckled appreciating his cheek. Joshua considered humor a solution for most ailments. After a few tries, Joshua spared her feet and almost dropped her on the grass when he dipped her by the Black Lake. 

Elphinstone thanked Joshua for the entertainment. 

“Joshua. Make it simple.” Minerva recovered quickly, patting her hair and continued with the natural turn waltz. 

Joshua eventually learned to lead. When he turned her around, Minerva spun into Elphinstone as they switched places. Joshua shrugged and opted as a player when they got home. Libby sat next to Joshua. Minerva rested her head on Elphinstone’s chest, listening to him count. 

“One, two, three, one, two, three,” said Elphinstone, stopping when he dipped her into a pose. “Why am I counting for you?” 

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Minerva turned and saw Libby had fallen asleep. Elphinstone picked her up like he did this day in and day out. He sung a Gaelic lullaby and tucked Libby in. Minerva leaned against the wall. “You can’t adopt a house-elf, Elphinstone. You’re not a lawyer anymore.” 

Elphinstone placed a cold compress on the house-elf’s forehead and sat in the edge of the single bed. “What do we do? Abraxas will kill her.” 

“You can’t be my lawyer,” she said flatly. Elphinstone dismissed her with a wave and annoyed her. “Why? Conflict of interest. Elphinstone, the time my brother called me …” 

“Robert’s an idiot. Like a pigeon. Shits on absolutely everything.” Elphinstone took out his pipe and lit it with a match before he tossed the spent march away in a wastebasket. Minerva stopped herself from asking him not to smoke in the house. “I like Libby.” 

“Elizabeth.” She waved her hand around the room, pointing out the bookshelf, the desk, and the bed. A house-elf had her own private bathroom! “You’re a bear.” 

“What?” 

 

“Malcolm said that the first time I showed him a photograph of you.” Minerva hugged him when they stepped outside the corridor. Elphinstone insisted he wanted no more children. Minerva never wanted any. 

“What else did he tell you?” Elphinstone nipped playfully at her neck. 

“Do not poke the bear.” Minerva closed her eyes, pleased Elphinstone took the compliment. This bubble of warmth, love, and happiness enveloped her. “Coming from Pudge, it’s sound advice.”

“A bear,” he said, still stuck on Malcolm. He pointed at the kitchen and dragged her towards the kitchen. Elphinstone found a carton of ice cream nestled next to a carton of vanilla. “Honeycomb ice cream is my favorite.”

“This is why you look like this.” Minerva rolled her eyes when Elphinstone started dinner again and kept sneaking tastes for his sweet tooth. 

“You don’t care.” He licked the spoon. 

“No. Not really,” she said, picturing a five-year-old chubby Joshua. 

She knew Elphinstone before Joshua, and she understood the fact the old man held a life before her. Joshua snuck in, fumbling with the camera, and took a picture of them. Elphinstone offered him the carton. 

Joshua shook his head, turning him down. Elphinstone was nothing if not honest with his son. Joshua signed to his father. 

“The old man is here? Who?” Elphinstone put Joshua’s words in spoken English, confused. 

“Albus.” Minerva opened the door invited the headmaster inside. Albus commented about the Mackintosh, the Slytherin scarf, and the yellow umbrella by the door. He showed her a small tiered wedding cake. “Chocolate. Ambrosius suggested it.” 

“Thank you.” Minerva made a face. “I told you not to make a fuss.” 

“As your work husband, I feel it’s my duty to tell you I don’t listen to you all the time. Half the time, if we’re honest. It’s a nice place. Feels like home.” Setting the gift on the table and not giving her chance to say anything, Albus directed his compliment towards Elphinstone because Minerva had lived in her sparse bedroom for more than twenty years and never bothered with much stuff. 

“I thought so. Thank you.” Elphinstone shook his hand. 

“May I speak with Libby?” Albus sat with them at the table as Elphinstone prepared the dishes.

Minerva knocked on Libby’s bedroom door. “Libby? I’m sorry to wake you.” 

 

Libby answered the door, bleary eyed. “Yes, Professor?” 

 

“Professor Dumbledore would like a word,” said Minerva. “And dinner’s ready.” 

Libby stared at the floor, muttering. “It is not proper for Libby to sit at table with Professor McGonagall, but if Professor McGonagall wishes for Libby to make a dessert or eat after Libby cleans the kitchen …” 

“You live here.” Minerva knelt on the floor and slipped the house-elf’s shoes on her feet. “You matter. Whatever Mr. Malfoy tells you, it doesn’t apply. We are equal. Do you understand me?” 

“Professor.” Libby fixed her bed. Minerva waited, took her by the hand, and waded through the silence. “People is not like you.” 

 

“I don’t care. You know me better than anyone.” Minerva sighed when the house-elf shied away. Minerva remembered something her father had said. “My father raised three magical children, and he raised us to find value. You matter to me.” 

“All right.” Libby beamed toothily at her.

“All right.” Minerva nodded, taking this as good enough. She conjured another chair and pushed Libby in. 

“Good afternoon, Libby.” Professor Dumbledore took a roll to be polite. He smiled, liking his freedom. He couldn’t eat because the students expected him for dinner. “Libby, the castle doesn’t own you. If you decide to call it a day for …”

Elphinstone sipped his wine. “You belong to you. If you want the law on your side, you’ve got me. If you want to call Minerva…” 

“Please don’t.” Minerva sliced her roast. 

“Not the point,” said Elphinstone, getting back on track as he plied the house-elf with food and wine. “Libby, whatever you choose to do, that’s on me.” 

“I think you should leave,” she said, glancing at the professor. She decided to hold her tongue, but Elphinstone pressed on. Professor Dumbledore left. Minerva ate in silence until Elphinstone offered to play the hero and fall down. “Are you going to sweep my little problems under the rug?” 

“Minerva, I…” Elphinstone faltered. 

”Do I look like a stupid little housewife to you?” Minerva found it sad they had not lasted a day. She refilled her glass and got up from the table. “You are not a lawyer anymore, and you can’t snap your fingers …”

“You asked me to destroy a man in his home!” Elphinstone waved his hand at the door. 

“I put out my fires by myself, thank you very much. I do not need a hero.” Minerva ignored Joshua, and she busied herself with making up the couch. Elphinstone followed her. “You love that man. A closeted monster is still a monster.” 

“He grew up in a different…” Elphinstone recited the expected line. 

“You were born in 1915! You’re the same age. You can’t comfort him.” Minerva threw up her hands and conjured the bottle. “You chose me. You chose Catherine Crouch. Amelia Bones.” 

“Minerva.” 

“You chose me! You chose me! Me. The reverend’s sheltered daughter.” Minerva pointed a finger at him. “The cute little boy we saw today?” 

“Draco,” Elphinstone said. 

“Draco Malfoy won’t know reality because hate breeds hate. Abraxas Malfoy probably expects you to put me on a leash.” Minerva dared him to try this. “Libby is a living, breathing…” 

“I know! Don’t you think I know this?” Elphinstone drowned her out and muttered about Libby hiding. A bedroom door slammed. “Abraxas beat her because she asked Knowles to stay in the room. She was scared and alone. All alone.” 

“I let her go.” Minerva sat on the arm of the couch. “I didn’t know, Elphinstone.”

“She gave birth and threw her out. If she doesn’t… she’ll get her name legally changed to Elizabeth Urquart because she needs someone in her corner.’ Elphinstone acted separate from the situation. “Put this on me, all right? Because I keep seeing her dead. Who does that?”

“Elphinstone.” 

“Joshua is mine. You are mine.” Elphinstone lit his pipe, rattled. “Please. You asked me to burn them. Elizabeth is …”

“Yours,” said Minerva, her anger evaporating into smoke. She handled him the bottle. “You going to take them on and burn the pure-blood establishment to the ground. You planned this to give him a warning.”

“Do not poke the bear.” Elphinstone took a swig. “She is important to me. Oh, by the way, next time you speak with Amelia, tell her I’m recertified, out of hibernation or whatever. Happily married.” 

“Happily married,” she said, grunting when he lifted her in his arms. “You’re going to throw out your back, Mr. Lawyer. Malcolm’s going to love this.” 

“Uh huh.” Elphinstone placed her in the chair and found bowls and spoons. “Ice cream and cake?”

**Author's Note:**

> It was notable of JKR to acknowledge Dobby’s death this year on the anniversary. I thought of that and resparked this idea. Thanks for reading. Reviews would be awesome.


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